


Hidden Agenda

by SaintLeona



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Epic Friendship, F/M, Pranks, it's all fun and games until someone messes with bianca
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-18 23:05:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7334284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintLeona/pseuds/SaintLeona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke and Varric work for the Kirkwall Courier, and unwittingly get involved in an all-out prank war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hidden Agenda

**Author's Note:**

  * For [violethour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/violethour/gifts).



> Thank you to violethour for the absolutely delicious prompt. It was so much fun, and I really really really hope you like it. 
> 
> This is my first AU ever, so please be kind.

_It all began on Wednesday with that Maker forsaken stapler…_

Aveline was a hard-ass, but on that particular Wednesday, she should have worked harder to remove that stick from her ass. Maybe that stick was the reason why she was the best editor-in-chief that the Kirkwall Courier had ever had, but it also made more work for Hawke. She was the best damned sports writer in Thedas, thank you very much, but travelling to out of town baseball games was a thing of the past. Most of the time she could watch them from home and write an article from there. But no, Aveline was making her fly to Denerim this afternoon to report on an insignificant game.

So instead of having a relaxing afternoon, she was scrambling to get everything ready for a hasty departure. It didn't matter that she would be back in the morning, or that she did travel almost weekly and this should not be a big deal. It was the fact that she was being forced to do it that bothered her.

And on top of everything else, her stapler had died.

"Varric, you there?"

"Where else would I be?"

Hawke stood and rested her arms on the partial division between her desk and his. Not for the first time, she considered just getting rid of the wall all together. She and Varric spent more time shouting over it than actually using it for privacy. But Aveline demanded a professional atmosphere in the main office, so the wall stayed put where it was. "What are you writing about this week?" she asked, the sweetness practically dripping from her lips.

Varric leaned back in his oversized leather chair and looked up at her. "A couple who met at the Elfroot Festival sixty one years ago, got married at the festival sixty years ago, and are celebrating their anniversary at this year's festival. Should be a real tear jerker."

"Aw, that's so lovely," she said as she fluttered her eyelashes at him.

"It sure is. Now what do you want?"

Hawke held a hand to her heart in indignation. "What makes you think I want something?"

"You only ask about my stories when you want something."

Hawke grinned at him. "You know that's not true at all."

"Last time you asked if I could find out if the rumour of the Seheron Chargers merging with the Skyhold Inquisitors was true."

"No I didn't."

He arched his eyebrows at her. "You were the first to report on it. You won an award."

"Which I shared with you."

"Yeah. Sports writer of the year, Alice Hawke, thanked me in her speech for being, and I quote, 'an all-around good guy.'" Varric folded his arms over his chest. "Now tell me, what do you want?" he demanded, though his words held no heat.

"Varric, all I want is to borrow your stapler. I have a shit ton of forms here I need to take with me to Denerim tonight."

"Where's your stapler?"

"Um...it's a little broken." She held it up as proof. The bottom was swinging on the hinge, the tray sticking out an an odd angle.

He picked up his heavy red stapler and held it, but made no move to give it to her. "I don't know Hawke. If you can't take care of your own, how do I know you'll take care of mine?"

"I promise. I'll be careful. Nothing but the lightest touch from me."

"You know, that may work for other equipment, but this is no ordinary stapler. Dwarven made, direct from Orzammar, or so I'm told." He held it back for a moment before placing it in her hand. "You will need to have a firm grip on it at all times."

Hawke wrapped her hand around it, but Varric didn't let go. His eyes locked with hers, daring her to look away first.

Like that was going to happen.

"I mean it," he told her. "Don't let go."

She leaned toward him. "I promise, dwarf."

He let go and turned back to his computer. "And I want it back this afternoon."

"You'll get it back when I'm good and ready to let go of your _equipment_ ," she said with a wink and a smirk.

"Maker," he muttered, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

****

Their laughter filtered through the office, to Isabela at her corner desk.

She had the perfect vantage point to watch the entire exchange between Hawke and Varric, and watch she did. The flirting between those two was always fun to witness, but it was starting to become boring. If only they would do something about all that mutual attraction that was so obvious to everyone but themselves.

Leaning back in her chair, her half-finished "Dear Izzy" column all but forgotten on her computer, an idea formed in her head. It was risky, and reckless, and it might not even work, but the payoff if it did…

It was worth it.

She saved her file before flicking off the computer and heading down the aisle three desks, past Fenris and Anders, to the one person she could count on to help.

Merrill was staring at her screen, frantically typing. Isabela smiled at her enthusiasm. The festival was always Merrill's favourite time of year. "Hey Merrill." She pulled a chair into her little cubicle and sat backwards in it, leaning her arms in the back of the chair. "You busy?"

Merrill clicked her mouse three times and turned to her friend. "Just sent my article on the Elfroot Festival to Donnic for editing, so if you want lunch, I'm free."

Isabela smirked and nodded. "Lunch sounds great. I can tell you all about my new evil plan."

Merrill rolled her eyes. "Not another one. Isabela, didn't you learn anything last time?"

"I seem to recall that last time ended up with our dear editor-in-chief finally hooking up with our humble proofreader."

"You told him to bend her over a basin."

"And it was brilliant advice, but I'm not sure being that straightforward will work this time."

Merrill sighed, and Isabela knew she had her. "Who are we setting up this time?"

She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. "None other than Alice Hawke and Varric Tethras. And we're going to need some help."

****

Varric liked to consider himself an adventurous sort, but lunch with Fenris was always a risky enterprise. He knew every restaurant in the Free Marches, and rarely had a good thing to say about any of them - especially if the wine was bad. But the most well renowned restaurant critic in Thedas had a way of getting his meals comped, as well as his guests. You just had to ignore everything that came out of Fenris' mouth.

As he walked back into the office, he expected Hawke to be well on her way to Denerim for the game. Instead, she was standing at her desk, shoving papers and her computer into her messenger bag. "Come on," she muttered to the bag. "Work with me."

"You know, you can't just shove everything in and expect it to fit."

Hawke looked down at him and raised one corner of her mouth. "Never had a complaint before."

"And you always end up with broken equipment." He pushed her away and pulled everything out of her bag. "Let me."

"Why Varric, you are awfully concerned with my equipment all of a sudden. Why's that?"

"No reason. You just have to learn to treat things with a little more respect."

"Like Bianca?"

He glanced at his laptop. "Bianca is a lady. She deserves every ounce of respect she gets."

"She's old."

"She's comfortable."

"She's outdated."

"She's worn in."

"Is that how you describe all your conquests?"

"I guess you'll never know."

Varric handed her the bag, neatly packed and ready for her trip. "Have fun in Denerim. Don't be too harsh with the locals."

Hawke slung it over her shoulder. "I won't. It's not their fault that their baseball team sucks. We can't all be the Dragons." She paused, opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. She patted him on the arm before turning to leave. "I left your equipment on your desk. See you tomorrow."

Varric watched her leave with a smile, then turned to his desk, and his smile vanished.

Sitting on top of Bianca, in six pieces, was his stapler.

****

On Thursday morning, Hawke came into the office later than normal. The game had run on into extra innings, but the Kirkwall Dragons had ended up victorious over the Denerim Maddogs. By the time she had gotten her article in, she had almost missed the last flight back to Kirkwall, and figured no one except maybe Varric would miss her if she was an hour or two late.

But oddly enough, she'd missed Varric on her trip. Usually he would text her a few times, tell her jokes to pass the hours while she was on the plane, ask her how the Dragons were doing and rib her about the Lothering Bandits and why she wasn't a bigger fan of them. Last night, he was silent. She didn't realise how much she relied on those conversations while she was away from the office.

She could see Varric's back, hunched over his Bianca, and felt relieved to see him again. She ditched her bag on her desk and was about to make some smartass remark about ignoring her while she was gone, but one look at her wall changed her mood in an instant.

The map on her wall - her giant, custom made, hugely expensive map that detailed the location of every sports team in Thedas - was covered in push pins. _Hundreds_ of them, in the shape of a giant smiley face.

The map was ruined.

She wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. Maybe laugh to stop herself from crying.

Her hands clenched at her sides. Laughing or crying, she was going to murder the person who did this.

Varric chose that moment to peek out from his cubicle. "Hey, Hawke, welcome back. Did you break anything while you were gone?"

She turned her head to him, expecting to find a shit-eating grin on his face. Instead, he looked completely grim and serious, looking over his reading glasses at her.

He cocked an eyebrow. "Nothing to say?"

"Not now Varric." She pointed to her wall. "Look at my fucking map."

He followed her hand, and he raised his eyebrows for a moment, then huffed under his breath. "Sucks for you," he said, and went back to his desk.

She stared at the wall that divided their desks, and an awful thought crept into her mind. She refuse to believe it. He wouldn't..he _couldn't_ have done this. What in Thedas would make him do it?

The answer was sitting on her desk - his red stapler, broken.

****

The last thing Varric wanted to do on Thursday afternoon was sit in a late day meeting with Aveline and Anders, but there he was. It was probably something important, but he couldn't make himself care enough to pay attention. He kept thinking about Hawke and her map. She loved that thing. It had taken a lot of time and energy to find someone to make it for her, and the pride she had in it showed. He didn't know who had done it, but he had never seen her so pissed. It was almost enough to make him feel sorry for whoever did it.

Almost.

He knew it was petty, but a part of him felt gratified. It was only a stapler, but it was _his_ stapler, and knowing Hawke, she broke it on purpose just to mess with him.

"Varric, are you even listening to me?"

Aveline was looking at him with wide eyes, waiting for a response, any response. "Whatever you want is going to be perfect," he told her. It was a practised response, but one that always came through for him.

"Fine," she sighed. "Work with Anders then."

Wait, work with Anders? The editorial writer who took the title a little too seriously? When did he agree to that?

Anders coughed to cover his laugh. "That's really not necessary, I can manage on my own -"

Aveline stomped her hands on the desk. "I'm sorry Anders, did I stutter? You are skating a very thin line. The last editorial you wrote about Mayor Stannard -"

" _Interim_ mayor," he corrected.

"- nearly got the paper sued for libel. Mr. Shokman wanted you fired."

Anders chuckled. "Aristotle Shokman can kiss my ass. You can't sue someone for their opinions."

"You can when they are presented as fact. So from now on, Varric is going to fact check every single thing you write about her. Understood?"

Great. Now he was going to be a babysitter for the biggest whiner of them all.

"You can both get back to work now."

Varric left without another word. He needed a drink; a very large, very cold, and very refillable drink. And company. After that mess with her map, Hawke would probably need something as well. And he did treat her pretty shitty when she got back. He knew what that map meant to her, and being pissed about a stupid stapler was a poor reason to give her the cold shoulder.

She wasn't at her desk. He checked his watch - almost six - and realised she'd probably gone for the day. The Val Royeaux Suns were playing a late game against the Orzammar Golems, so she was most likely headed to her place to watch that. He could call her, bring over some dinner for both of them, and watch the game together while they tried to figure out who messed with her map. An evening alone with Hawke was high on his list of favourite ways to spend his time, and every once in awhile, he wondered if they could ever be anything more. If he had the chance he liked to think he would take it, but Hawke was out of his league; that chance would never happen. They were both very clear on their relationship status - friends, best friends even, and that was the end of it.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Hawke's favourite Orlesian restaurant for a take-out. Before he could hit send, he rounded the partition to his desk, and stopped dead in his tracks.

His laptop, his beloved Bianca, the most loyal and reliable possession he owned, had been _defiled_.

She was plastered with post-it notes. Every square centimeter was covered, every key, every port. And there were _layers_ of them. And of course they didn't come off in one piece. Someone had cut them so when he tried to pull them off, they would rip.

He looked at Hawke's empty cubicle, and knew exactly who that _someone_ was.

****

Friday morning was always Hawke's favourite part of the work week. She usually only spent a half day at the office, then off to a game series for the weekend. With the Elfroot Festival in town, however, she had taken the weekend off, and only had a phone interview to conduct on Sunday with Cassandra Pentaghast, the first baseman for the Skyhold Inquisitors.

She got to her desk, and for once was grateful that Varric wasn't around. She missed him, but he was obviously in a mood.

"Hey, Hawke! Glad I caught you."

Hawke turned to Sebastian. He jogged up to her, his camera bag jostling at his side with every step. "Where else would I be?"

Sebastian smiled at her. "Well, I'm about to go to the festival with Merrill, but I wanted to drop off these pictures of Ms. Pentaghast before I left." He handed her an envelope. "To go along with your interview."

"Thanks, Sebastian. I appreciate it." She pulled out the pictures, taken the last time the Inquisitors were playing in Kirkwall. There were some amazing shots; Sebastian was new to the Courier, but definitely talented. "These are really good. They'll be a great addition to the piece."

Sebastian practically beamed at her. "You're welcome. I'm happy to help." He turned to leave, then looked back over his shoulder. "By the way, you may want to check your voicemail. Your outgoing message is odd."

Hawke narrowed her eyes and looked at her phone. The red light on top was blinking; she had messages. She sat and dialed into the voicemail system, then entered her password.

It was denied.

She tried again. Denied again.

She hung up and stared at the phone. Curiosity got the better of her, and she picked up the receiver, dialed her own extension, and waited for the voicemail to pick up.

"Hi, this is Varric Tethras, author of _Hard in Hightown_ , and if you liked that one, be sure to pick up my newest book, _The Viper's Nest_. Go on, you know you want to. Buy my book."

Hawke set the receiver down with a calmness she didn't feel. That bastard changed her message to a commercial to plug his book? And it wasn't even an original commercial. It was just the one he recorded to play on the radio station during breaks.

She peeked around the corner at his desk. Bianca was missing, so he had probably taken the day off to work from home. Probably a good idea. She didn't know what had pissed Varric off, but considering how Hawke felt, that dwarf was smart to keep away from her.

****

By the time Sunday rolled around, Hawke was tired. Her anger had faded, and she just felt drained. She wanted to call Varric, find out why he thought all this was funny and necessary, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. He'd come around eventually, and they'd laugh about all this, but not until he was ready to.

The interview with Cassandra went as well as she thought it would. Cassandra was a notorious recluse, refusing to give reporters more than yes and no answers, but there were a few quotes she could use.

She had just finished the last paragraph when her phone pinged with a new text message.

_Izzy: hey hawke. sorry about your voicemail._

Hawke read it four times before responding.

_That was you?_

The three cycling dots told her that Isabela was busy texting her back.

_Izzy: and the map_

Hawke clenched her jaw. Isabela had done it?

_Izzy: truce?_

She closed her eyes and counted to ten before answering.

_Have you seen the mess you made of my map? And you made me blame Varric._

The message had barely sent when she got the reply.

_Izzy: trust me just this once. go to the roof. promise youll like what you see_

It went against every instinct, but Hawke's curiosity got the better of her.

_Fine._

_Izzy: and tell varric im sorry about bianca as well_

Oh Maker. No wonder Varric wasn't around. If Isabela had done something to Bianca, she was lucky she was still breathing.

Ten minutes later, she was on the roof of the Courrier, alone.

"I don't know what I expected," she mumbled. She turned to leave, and that's when she saw it.

There was a table near the edge of the roof, overlooking the park and the festival. It had been set with two places, complete with a veal dinner, gelatin and cake for dessert, and a bottle of wine that had a note attached that read: _This is the best wine in Thedas, and you better appreciate that I'm just giving it to you. F._

On the chairs were a box and a poster tube. _Hawke_ was stenciled on the tube in Merrill's delicate handwriting. She popped it open, pulled out its contents, and unrolled a portion of it.

It was her map. Beautiful, pristine, and whole. She smiled and rolled it back up into the tube. It would go on her wall that very evening.

The box on the other chair had _Varric_ scrawled across it, obviously written by Anders. The dinner, the gifts, the apology, the music from the last night of the festival floating up through the evening air - it was quite the romantic scene.

And that was when it hit her like a ton of bricks. This was a set up.

"Hawke?"

She turned to find Varric walking towards her. "Hey Varric."

He held up his phone to her. "I take it Isabela got a hold of you too?"

Hawke nodded. "Do I want to know what she did to Bianca?"

"Not really. It's not important." Varric rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry I blamed you. And I'm really fucking sorry what she did to your map."

"I'm sorry I thought it was you. But she replaced it." She pointed to the box on the chair. "I'm going to guess that's a new stapler. I saw the other one in pieces."

Varric turned his attention to the table. "And speaking of surprises, what's all this?"

"If I had to guess, it's Isabela's way of playing matchmaker."

As fast as Varric's head whipped back to face her, it was a wonder he didn't pass out. "Matchmaker?" he sputtered. "For _us_?"

His words stung, which she never would have expected. "Damn, Varric. Don't sound so repulsed by the idea."

"What? Maker, that did sound bad didn't it." His shoulders sagged as he sighed. "It's just that you're my friend, my best friend, and yeah, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it -"

"You've thought about it?" She couldn't help cutting him off. Hope flowed through her and it just tumbled out of her mouth.

"Well, yeah, once." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Maybe twice."

"Huh."

"Oh, come on Hawke." He held his hand out at his sides. "Please, tell me you've thought about it too so I don't stand here feeling awkward and stupid."

Hawke let a shy smile play on her lips. "Maybe once or twice."

"Okay, that makes me feel a little better. But how is making us pissed off at each other supposed to end with us getting together?"

In that moment, the entire plan fell into place for Hawke. "She had to get us both mad, then when she revealed what really happened, we unite in anger against a common foe." She gestured to the table. "All this is just a final nudge in the right direction."

Varric chuckled. "It's not so much a nudge as a full-force shove."

"Isabela is many things, but subtle isn't one of them."

"I'm surprised she didn't just go for 'bend her over a basin.' Seemed to work last time."

Hawke laughed. "I think that only works for Aveline and Donnic."

Neither one of them spoke. If she was smart, she would drop everything, pretend it was a good joke, and move on, their relationship the same as it ever was. There was only one problem with that: she didn't want the same relationship. Aveline and Donnic danced around each other for months, and when they finally came together, Hawke had never seen two people so happy. And standing on that roof, Hawke finally realised wanted that same happiness - with Varric.

Varric broke the silence. "Well, I guess there's really only one question left to ask." He took two steps to close the space between them and took her hands in his. "Did this work for us?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The hardest part of answering him was keeping her enthusiasm in check. "I guess that remains to be seen," she said, and leaned down to him.

As far as kisses go, it wasn't the kind that sweeps you off you feet or the kind that stops your heart or makes you see stars. It was the kind that fills you with joy, happiness, and contentment; the kind that promises so much more.

"Well," he said when they broke apart, "let's not waste this lovely dinner that someone was so kind as to prepare for us."

They walked hand in hand to the table, and Varric, being the unexpected gentleman, pulled the chair out for her. "You know, Isabela probably wasn't alone in this."

"No, probably not." Varric sat and uncorked the wine bottle. "I take it you have a plan?"

"Oh, I always have a plan." She let him pour the wine before offering a toast. "To revenge?"

"It will be sweet." They touched glasses, drank deeply, and set to scheming.

****

On Monday, Isabela got to work unusually early, to find her stapler sitting in a bowl of gelatin of all things, and a note taped to it.

_Thank you. H & V._

_P.S. It's on._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I made you all smile. :)
> 
> It was fun coming up with all the different jobs everyone would have at the paper. I have to admit, the thought of a "Dear Izzy" column makes me laugh so hard. And I even created an entire baseball league for Hawke to report on (I think I got eight teams in there), and the Inquisitors have a batting lineup, positions, and their staff all sorted out.
> 
> Huge thanks to my beta zendelai for all her work on this! You are amazing and I love you.


End file.
